AUTHOR'S PREFACE
This is the sequel to 'Those born to duty', and so to make the most out of this story it is recommended that you read 'Those born to duty' first.
Enjoy,
~ Sentogray
CHAPTER ONE
Happy Birthday
Excerpt from the Chant of Reformation
Begun 9:32 Dragon
Acknowledged by the Divine following
Andraste's blessing of Salana Cousland
In my death find sacrifice,
In my resurrection find hope,
In my life find all that can be;
A path walked in righteousness,
Is traversed without desire for reward,
For only good deeds served,
Without expectation for self,
Are truly good.
(CoR Salana 1:1)
" Happy birthday," Alistair whispered into Salana's hair, and sleepily she batted away his hand as it tried to pull back the blankets that covered them both.
" No," she murmured, rolling over and snuggling back down, not denying that it was her birthday, but bemoaning the extravagance that he had been plotting in celebrations.
" You don't really expect the people to just ignore the day that they were gifted the Hero of Thedas?"
Salana just grumbled and buried her face in her pillow, but Alistair continued to prod, tucking his chin over her shoulder and sliding his now cold hand from the nape of her neck down the length of her spine.
" Maker's left hand?" he hissed, barraging her with some of the names that people from all over Thedas had begun to call her. " Child of Andraste? Maker's Example?"
" Alistair!" she shrieked when he gave her right cheek a sharp pinch, and to avoid a second such attack she flipped over, only to be pinned down by the weight of his body.
" And maybe," he grinned down at her, even as she pouted. " I want the opportunity to shower you with gifts."
" I don't need gifts," she grumbled, testing his hold on her wrists and he tightened his grip. " I already have everything I could ever need."
That was a touching sentiment that was not lost on Alistair, but he also knew that it was not entirely true. Despite their playful banter and the spirited, writhing struggle contest that ensued, Alistair knew that Salana was haunted by a shadow that could not be banished by magic or answered by her apparently divine connections.
Conception was not the issue.
Sustaining a pregnancy within her tainted body was.
They had already returned two infant souls to the arms of the Maker, and though Alistair would have known no greater joy than to have a child with Salana, he now vehemently prayed that she did not conceive again; in fact, he was almost at the point of suggesting that they sleep in separate beds in order to avoid accidents…
… almost.
" Majesties?" came a female voice from beyond the royal chamber, and Salana waited for Alistair to glance back over his shoulder before attempting to wriggle out from under him.
" Oh no you don't!" he growled, clamping with his thighs, but it was not enough to save them from tumbling off the bed in a tangle of limbs and blankets.
" Majesties?" the inquiry came again, and this time there was some concern in the woman's tone, even if the difference went unnoticed by the enraptured pair.
" Just a minute!" Salana called out in a sing-song voice, but yelped when Alistair bit down on her earlobe.
" This is going to take more than a minute," he assured her breathily.
" Um, Majesties," the woman called for a third time. " The Chantric convoy has arrived from Orlais, and her Most Holy Divine is requesting an audience."
" The Divine?" Alistair perked, lifting his head, and Salana did not squander the opportunity to stab him in the ribs and squirm away.
As the king collected his thoughts, and caught his breath, his queen jogged naked across the chamber to snatch up her robe and wrap herself in it.
" You'd seriously rather go and face the Divine than stay here with me?" Alistair sniffed, sitting up amid the twisted sheets.
" Of course not," Salana smirked, grabbing his robe and tossing it to him. " I would, however, rather not have her burst in here to find us rolling around on the floor."
" Hmph," he snorted, standing up buck-naked and planting his hands on his hips in an heroic pose. " It might be educational for her."
" Alistair!" Salana nearly choked. " You were very nearly a Templar!"
" If you don't like the floor we could try the sideboard," he grinned cheekily.
" I'm sure she would find that less shocking," she chuckled.
" My Lady?" the woman's voice sounded once more, but it was the cracking of the door that got Alistair's attention.
Salana dissolved into laughter as he scrambled to fling on his robe, and a slender brunette in royal livery, poked her head into the royal bedchamber.
" Doesn't anyone knock around here?" Alistair balked, red in the face and not from exertion.
" Oh, my most abject apologies your Majesty, truly," the woman apologised, bowing her head repeatedly while shielding her eyes.
" It's all right Linette, we were just getting up," Salana told her.
" Well I was anyway," Alistair grumbled under his breath.
" Her Perfection has been most insistent that you confirm that the public benediction ceremony will take place before all other events," the attendant explained.
Salana groaned and it was Alistair's turn to smirk.
" Rolling around on the floor is looking pretty good now isn't it?" he snickered, and Linette's face began to burn.
She was saved by a stream of attendants, who poured through the semi-open chamber door carrying large containers filled with milky, fragrant liquid.
" How many outfits do I need?" Salana inquired, as Linette ushered her from the bedroom, through her dressing room, in which stood seven fully dressed mannequins.
" One for the benediction, another for the lords' gift giving ceremony, then the city banquet," Linette answered, motioning the pursuing water bearers to continue on into the bathing chamber. " Another for the king's gift, one for the Circle's high tea, one for the private audience with your brother, and it was his Majesty's idea for you to wear the gown sent by the Empress of Orlais to your birthday all this evening."
Salana shook her head, standing before the deep, steaming stone basin into which the other attendant's had poured the perfumed liquid.
" Why can't I just wear my armor?" she frowned. " It is my birthday after all."
Linette just laughed, a light, musical laugh, and pulled Salana's robe away from her shoulders, before offering the queen a steadying hand.
" Yeah," Salana sighed, taking the offered support and stepping into the warm water. " I had a feeling you were going to say that."
When the queen was groomed and attired to the satisfaction of her most loyal lady in waiting, Salana was allowed a moment's respite to indulge in what had become her morning ritual.
Her footfalls echoed loudly in the Royal Sepulture, suitably solemn sounds for that place populated by what remained of Ferelden's ruling class. Of course there were no bodies to speak of, tradition dictating that bodies be cremated, but the cold stone halls and their intricately vaulted ceilings, provided a fittingly grand resting place for the ashes of those lost to time and tragedy.
As she passed the statue of Alistair's predecessor, she could almost hear Cailan expressing his excitement before the impending confrontation at Ostagar. Oh how he had longed for the type of epic battle sung of in heroic ballads; and yet all he had received was overwhelming betrayal, and a death brought about by a truly cruel act of dishonor.
King Maric and Queen Rowan watched on, though the former's body had been lost with him at sea. Salana didn't know how Alistair really felt about his biological father, but it had never been all that important; Eamon and Duncan had both played more tangible parts in shaping the young man who had become Ferelden's third and most unlikely king of the Dragon Age.
Beyond this pair, in a lonely little recess that was lit by a single, flickering candle, sat two small urns that unlike the others, were not accompanied by finely crafted effigies.
It was there that Salana paused.
She had no tears to shed for the corporeal remnants of that which she and Alistair had sewn, seeds that her body could not sustain, for the pain ran deeper than that. Every time she visited, every single morning, she was reminded of the conversation she and her husband had had following the Landsmeet. A king was expected to have children, especially Alistair, for he was the last of the Therin bloodline; this was the only thing that she simply could not give him, no matter how much she wished it, and though she had suffered much, this actually hurt most of all.
" It is through suffering, That we learn mortality," a somewhat familiar voice declared in the dimness, and for just the briefest of moments the sound seemed to come from everywhere. As the Divine approached on silent, soft, Orlesian shoes, however, following the path that Salana had just tread, the source became more obvious. " And through mortality, That we learn the preciousness of life," the much older woman continued, and Salana did not interrupt, closing her eyes. " Through the preciousness of life, We learn joy, And in joy discover all for which we fight, A battle to end all suffering, Without which we would know nothing, Of light. So we learn the true worth of balance." (CoR Sacrifice 1:1)
A profound silence followed the conclusion of the Divine's recitation; time allowed the dust that her approach had stirred to settle, and Salana opened her eyes.
" Isn't it a little cruel, don't you think," she said finally, though she was not angry. " To use my own words against me?"
" Is it?" the Divine inquired, moving in behind the queen when she did not so much as glance in her direction. " When those words now bring comfort to so many all across Thedas? Did you not speak them because you believe in them?"
" Of course I did," Salana nodded slowly. " And I do."
" Did you also not say that, Finite is our time, To do all that we want and must..?"
" I thought you were going to take out the want in that verse," Salana interrupted quietly, but the Divine continued in order to make her point.
" Lament over that which cannot be changed, Is time wasted upon a fruitless venture. If it is within your power to create change, Then only through both will and action, Will it be so." (CoR Acceptance 1:1)
" Is this how our conversations are going to be?" the queen sighed, finally turning to face the other woman. " You're going to speak to me in my own words, because if that's the case I'm going to have to exile Leliana from the court."
" Do not think I shall be so easily misdirected Blessed One," the Divine mused. " I am told that every morn you come to this somber place, to visit upon the misery of your poisoned womb, and bemoan the loss of these children whose souls were called to dwell with your divine lineage before they could know the pain that you have endured. Are you such a contradiction? Is this hypocrisy?"
" Happy birthday Salana, might have been more appropriate," Salana grated, irritation beginning to burn behind her eyes; was this woman honestly calling her a hypocrite for feeling sadness at the undeniable tragedy of two miscarriages?
She narrowed her eyes at the religious leader, a woman of cloth who had spent her long years interpreting someone else's words, rather than carving her own path toward what she believed was right and good.
" That is the trouble with scripture," Salana went on. " Only she who is quoted will ever know what was actually meant by her words."
" So there is no point in spreading your message, because I and the Chantry as a whole could not possibly comprehend it?" the Divine perked lightly, well able to see the growing frustration within the queen.
" Now you're putting your words in my mouth," Salana huffed, looking back to her two lost children, brushing her fingertips across the narrow placards that bore their names.
Wynne had suggested that the royal pair give them names, identities, even though those tiny, misshapen forms had not resembled anything close to human. It would help, she had said, in the process of grieving, but Salana was not sure how.
" When I said that lament was time wasted," she declared, her tone tight and restrained. " I did not mean that there was no worth in grief or mourning, that there was nothing to be learned from reflection upon that which has caused us agony, only that it should not be allowed to consume or twist us."
" Perhaps you should have been more specific?" the Divine offered, and this time, Salana did round on her with open anger.
" I told you, I am not a prophet," she growled, and the candle at her back shuddered violently. " You can give me fancy names that elevate me to Andraste's side in the minds and hearts of the people, but that does not mean that I have all the answers, to all of the questions that you have about life and beyond."
The Divine weathered the verbal wrath of the grieving woman, for in all honesty she had to admit to herself that she had pushed a little further than she had intended.
" The objective fact of good or evil in a person, comes not from blindly following the instructions of someone else, just because someone in a cathedral somewhere says they're the most qualified," Salana continued fervently. " But in observing and understanding how the actions of others impact upon the world and consciously deciding for themselves what is right."
" Unfortunately," the Divine said gently, " All the people of Thedas do not have the privilege of observing your fine examples, and so we must provide them with what guidance we can, in a way that shall reach as many as possible; even if sometimes the message is not exactly what you intended."
Salana exhaled a heavy breath that emptied out all the rage.
" It was wrong of me to make such an accusation, Blessed One," the Divine apologised. " Forgive me."
" I am what I am, Most Holy," Salana told her, touching her fingertips to her lips before pressing them against each nameplate in turn. " Not what you would make of me, please do not forget that."
The Divine inclined her head as Salana turned, indicating with her posture that she was finished with her ritual and ready to move on. It was well that Leliana was so close to Andraste's child, had a way with this warrior queen, for it seemed that Salana had, not contempt for the clergy, but certainly some amount of skepticism as to just how useful the methods of the Chantry were in practically helping the people.
Andraste and her followers had been adamantly vocal about her message, after all, she was the voice of the Maker first heard by the people, but Salana was not nearly so verbose.
Though she accepted the widespread reality that the Chantry served as the spiritual backbone for most of Thedas, she was not going to let it shape her into something that she was not.
The Divine's benediction ceremony involved a lot of chanting and blessing, and acknowledgement of Salana's divine position as the Maker's Example. Though her official title and mode of address had been formalised in Orlais a month ago, this was the first time that the Divine had spoken it publically in Salana's presence, and before the lords and ladies of Ferelden and dignified guests from across Thedas.
Despite the morning's minor conflict, the queen took everything else graciously in her stride; including a rapid wardrobe change. She smiled and nodded as the lords and ladies of the realm, followed by those from outside of Ferelden, presented their birthday tidings and extravagant gifts.
All the while, Alistair sat on his throne beside her, fingers curled over hers and grinning; he seemed to be enjoying this far more than she, right up until the point a representative from the Tevinter Imperium stepped forward with a group of ten cowed elves in tow.
" My lord and lady of Ferelden," the distinguished looking, robed man began, following with his own deep bow, and there was absolute silence in the chamber. " The one true power of the Tevinter Imperium, sends its most heartfelt well wishes on the anniversary of her Majesty's birth, and wishes to present her with a gift worthy of such greatness."
The group of elves split in two, stepped to the sides of the man, and lowered to their knees before they bent totally forward and pressed their foreheads to the floor. There were murmurs of outrage all throughout the throne room, some louder than others, but all eyes rest upon the royal pair awaiting their reaction.
Alistair's first impulse was to react angrily, but this gift had been presented to Salana and so he deferred to her with a sideways glance. He knew how she felt about the outlawed act of elven slavery, and had in fact prompted a long overdue inquiry into conditions within the Denerium Alienage.
The Tevinter representative would not have come ignorant of the laws, nor of the kind of reaction he would receive, and so Salana knew this had nothing to do with her birthday at all. The man was on a fact-finding mission, there to test the mettle of a woman who was quickly becoming known across Thedas by any number of colloquial titles that revolved around her connection with the Maker.
Salana took her time, her eyes travelling across the downturned heads of the elves that were now apparently hers, before she looked to the side of the chamber at one of the royal guards and motioned toward them with her hand. As the soldier moved forward to gather the slaves from their prostration, the queen lifted her chin a little higher in preparation to speak, but the Divine pre-empted her, speaking from the gallery above.
" You have quite some nerve coming here with such an appalling insult," the woman reprimanded, her tone edged. " Your heathen…" she continued, but Salana stopped her.
" I appreciate the passion of your disapproval Most Holy," she said, looking up at the woman with an even expression. " But I should like to address our distant visitor myself."
It was as gentle a 'shut up' as Salana could manage given the woman had opted to speak in the royal court out of turn. There was no denying the Divine's outrage, nor her right to feel it; it was widely accepted that the magocracy of the Tevinter Imperium was responsible for bringing about the very first darkspawn. To make matters more serious, the Imperium had also been the ones to capture Andraste and ultimately burn her to death; and there this man was, standing before the woman now acknowledged by the Chantry as that which the Maker thought all others should emulate.
" As you well know," Salana said finally. " Slavery is not a practice tolerated in Ferelden, and it is a practice for which I have exceptional distaste. Under Ferelden law you shall have to answer for the trafficking of elves within our borders."
Her lips pressed together for a few seconds in pause, before the very corners turned up in a smirk.
" But you already knew that, so why come? Why come before me with such contempt?" she inquired, and it seemed that everyone but she and the man in question was holding their breath.
But he said nothing, he merely smiled back at her; his was the smile of a man with a secret that he believed could shield him from reprisal.
" Very well," Salana nodded, motioning with her hand again, and this time a pair of soldiers stepped out to escort the man from the throne room. " Excluding the representative from the Tevinter Imperium, I would like to express my gratitude for all of your well wishes and gifts, for which I do not think I am truly deserved."
" I think I can speak for everyone here, my dear," Alistair declared, giving her hand a squeeze. " When I respectfully disagree with you on that."
" Just the same," Salana smiled, looking to him before beginning a slow visual pan around the chamber. " I encourage you to use today's celebrations to foster greater bonds of peace between the nations of Thedas; conflict and war," she went on, her gaze falling finally upon the Empress of Orlais. " Benefits no one."
There were nods and whispers of agreement and approval, and attendants began to usher people from the chamber.
If only peace could be that simple.
